Wreath Page 13

  Faye didn’t turn the OPEN sign around until Nadine drove off in her fancy new SUV.

  Peace? She sat down at the rolltop desk. Nadine still had Jim, even if her daughter had made a mess of her life and her son-in-law was in jail. She had money and someone to fix the faucet when it leaked and wasn’t saddled with a business that was going deeper in debt by the day.

  The stack of bills to be paid grew with each visit from the mailman. Only a couple of customers had been in for the entire week, and they hadn’t bought anything. She paid the girl a paltry fifty dollars a week, which she knew wasn’t a fair wage, and stuck a little cash back for Wreath because she didn’t trust her to manage the money. She ought to be doing the chores herself, but even Billy had had a handyman off and on through the years.

  Billy’s banker had called to set up a meeting, which could not be good news. Something had to change. First thing she needed to do was let Wreath go. She would miss the girl, who made the place bearable. After getting rid of her, she needed to see about selling the store, although she had no idea who would want to buy a retail dinosaur, nor how to go about it. Maybe the banker would know.

  She put her head down on the desk. She hadn’t cried once since Billy dropped dead, but today might be the day. She had tried to dwell on the bad parts of life and shut out the happy memories Nadine mentioned because they hurt too much to think about. What right did her friend have reminding her of the life she used to lead?

  That part of her died with Billy.

  The bell jangled on the door, and she jerked her head up and rolled the chair back so fast that she nearly hit a cherry sofa table that already had two nicks in it and a cracked leg.

  “Are you okay?” Wreath asked.

  Faye looked at the clock, which had started making a humming sound to accompany its loud ticking. For a moment she wondered if she had passed out. The clock said ten. She was confused about everything.

  Wreath followed her gaze and gave a rare laugh. “Oh, it’s not time for my shift yet,” she said. “I needed to talk to you about something.”

  The teen held her head down slightly, not quite making eye contact, shuffling her shoe back and forth on the wood floor. “I wondered if you might have more work for me.”

  “More work?” Faye asked.

  “I hoped you could add duties to my list and give me a few more hours. I know I haven’t been here long, but I think I’ve shown I’m a hard worker.”

  “You are a hard worker, Wreath,” Faye said. “But I’m going to have to let you go.”

  Wreath gasped, and she clutched her ever-present pack to her chest. “No!” she exclaimed. “You can’t!”

  “I can, and I will. I don’t need your help here anymore.”

  “But I thought I was doing a good job,” Wreath said. “I know you don’t like me that much, but I have made the store look better.”

  “Not like you?” It was the store owner’s turn to be shocked. “If I had been able to have a child, I’d have wanted a daughter just like you….”

  As the words hung in the air, she laid her hand upon her chest, stricken. Faye had never, ever talked to anyone, not even Nadine, about not being able to have children. What was it about this girl that opened her heart?

  She cleared her throat and tried to sound stern, mean even. “I’m used to being here by myself, and it works out like that.”

  “Please give me another chance, Mrs. Durham. I’ll do anything. I need this job real bad.” Tears rolled down Wreath’s cheeks.

  “Child, you’re sixteen years old. You can’t possibly need this pitiful job that bad. Ask your parents for what you need.”

  Wreath started toward the door. “Thank you for giving me a chance and for helping me buy the bike,” she said. “I liked working for you.”

  The bells on the door jangled on Faye’s nerves, and then the store was quiet, except for the clock. Only five minutes had passed, but she felt like she had been through the past year all over again. She walked into the workroom, propped her forehead against the cabinet door, and sobbed.

  Then she opened the cabinet and took out the collection of advertising mugs from one vendor after another, for chairs and tables, fabric and office supplies. One by one she threw them against the wall.

  “For Billy,” she said, crying, as the first one smashed.

  “And this stupid store.”

  “And my friends who don’t understand.”

  “And that stack of bills.”

  The loud noise of the mugs satisfied her after a year of tiptoeing around, but a whimper crept into the crescendo, and she whirled around. Wreath stood at the door, the traces of tears still on her cheeks. “What do you want?” Faye asked.

  The girl nodded, keeping her distance. “I want my job back,” Wreath said. “No matter what it takes. I’ll do better. I like working here.”

  Faye reached into the cabinet, pulled out another mug, and Wreath ducked, but the woman walked over and handed the cup to her. “I can’t afford to hire you back. Break something. You’ll be amazed at how much better you’ll feel.”

  Wreath threw the mug, which busted into three or four pieces, scarring the already tacky wall. “May I have another one?” she asked, and Faye started laughing.

  “Have all you want. There’s nearly a hundred years of useless history in that cabinet.”

  Faye heard a hint of hysteria in her own laugh, and Wreath stepped toward the cabinet.

  “A hundred years? You’ve owned this store that long?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “How old do you think I am? But my husband’s grandfather started it, and his daddy built it up. Seems like me and Billy are the ones who managed to ruin it.”

  Faye sat down at the table, and Wreath dug through the back of the cabinet, pulling out old cups, mugs, toothpick holders, ashtrays, and commemorative plates. She lined the items up on the counter, eyeing Faye.

  “I shouldn’t have acted like this in front of you,” Faye said. “You’d better go.”

  “Don’t make me go. Please don’t make me go. I’ll do anything you want me to do—break cups, glue cups back together, even try to sell cups. Please don’t make me go.”

  The path where the tears had fallen was wet again, and Wreath was clearly distraught as she wiped them away.

  “Sit down, Wreath.” The woman pulled out a chair at the small worktable. She wet a cloth with cool water and wiped the girl’s face.

  Wreath gave a laugh. “You seem to be doing this a lot.”

  Faye looked surprised. “I do, don’t I? It’s kind of nice for a change. It’s been too long since I’ve had someone to take care of.”

  “So you won’t make me go?”

  “I’m afraid I have to. As you’ve probably figured out, this store is in deep trouble. I don’t have enough money to pay the light bill, much less to pay a girl to help dust.”

  “I’ll work for less.”

  “I can’t do that,” Faye said. “It wouldn’t be right. And your parents wouldn’t go for it.”

  Wreath looked at her straight in the eye. “I don’t have any parents. My dad ran off when I was born. My mama lives up near Lucky. I don’t think she’ll be coming down here. That’s just a story I made up.”

  “But you stay in touch with her. You’re always talking about her, and she loves you.”

  “I have to support myself.” The girl swallowed as she spoke.

  “That isn’t right either,” Faye said. “I can help you get aid. There are agencies—”

  “No, no, no….” Wreath nearly turned the table over as she jumped up. “No agencies. I’ll look for work somewhere else.”

  “Wait, honey. Calm down. We’ll figure something out.”

  “I have ideas on how to bring customers in,” Wreath said. “I read magazines. You have a lot of good retro stuff.”

  “That junk? I’ll be lucky to find someone willing to haul it off for free.”

  “Can’t we at least try? If it doesn’t work, you don’t
have to pay me.”

  The older woman walked over and got the broom and began to sweep up the mess she had made. Wreath immediately stood and tried to take the broom. For a moment, they played tug-of-war, and then Faye gave in.

  “We’ll give it a try. I’ll give you a month to see what we can do.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Durham. You won’t be sorry.”

  “I know I won’t be. And I don’t intend to ask you this again. Will you please call me Faye?”

  Chapter 20

  Starting school had always been hard. Moving around a lot didn’t allow her to get too close to people, and she never had many friends. The idea of her first day at Landry High terrified her more than the dark nights in the Tiger Van or the snake she had seen more than once around the campsite.

  Now it was the night before the first day of school. Trying to calm her nerves, she pulled out the old Bible and flipped over to the words in red. The letters were barely legible with her weak flashlight, but she read a few verses and thought of the old neighbor in Lucky who had taken her to church and always told her she was praying for her.

  Wreath didn’t quite know how to pray and had been meaning to ask Faye whether she prayed or not. If ever there was a time to try praying, tonight seemed like the night.

  She pulled out her notebook and wrote. Dear God, I don’t know if You know me. Maybe You know that my name is Wreath Willis, except some people think it’s Wreath Williams. I start my last year of high school tomorrow. I’m not sure how this prayer stuff works, but I need help real bad. Lots of people have offered to help me, but I don’t know whom to trust. Will You help me? Sincerely, Wreath Wisteria Willis. She wrote her name in cursive, with a flourish, figuring God might appreciate the extra effort.

  Setting the alarm on the windup clock she had found, she squirmed and brushed off bugs she thought were crawling on her in the thick carpet.

  She woke up well before the puny bell rang on the old clock, awake every hour during the night, holding the clock close to her face, using her flashlight to see what time it was. Finally at 5:30 a.m., while it was still dark outside, she allowed herself to get up, eat a cereal bar, and grab the supplies she had assembled the evening before.

  Propping the flashlight, which flickered a few times, on the seat next to her, she pulled out her journal and started a new list, writing so hard that the lead in the pencil broke.

  FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL:

  State park for a shower.

  Arrive early on campus. Stop by office.

  Buy school supplies after work.

  The list looked so efficient and easy, but Wreath knew there were big hurdles ahead, including the forged registration papers. They were full of holes, but she’d move ahead.

  Not knowing what the kids wore to class in Landry or the school dress code, Wreath chose a skirt and a peasant blouse she had found in one of the campers.

  She wrestled her bike out of its hiding place and set out for the park, determined she wouldn’t be a weird-looking homeless kid on her first day of school. Riding in the early-morning darkness was different from her usual treks, and she swerved into a pothole a time or two.

  When she made her usual turn into the state park, she nearly ran into a gate, closed across the drive, a padlock on it. The park entrance was locked! How did I overlook this?

  Getting off the bike, she propped it against the gate and walked from side to side, trying to see if she could scoot around the fence. In the two or three places where there were gaps in the fence, chicken wire had been tacked, preventing entry. An armadillo scooted out of the ditch right behind her and, looking like a little dinosaur, nearly ran right into her leg. She yelped and jumped and the confused creature headed back down into the ditch.

  “That’s it,” Wreath said out loud. “That is just it.” She yanked her bike upright and started home, riding as hard as she could. She’d been insane to think she could go to school and live in a junkyard.

  She packed and unpacked her belongings at least four times, laid down on her mangy blanket and cried, and ran a path around the worn-out vehicles until she had a stitch in her side. Then she lay back down on the blanket and cried again.

  So much for prayer.

  So much for graduating from high school.

  So much for Frankie, for that matter. She still didn’t understand why her mother had to leave her.

  “I didn’t realize it was so late,” Faye said when Wreath entered the store. “School out already?” The girl shrugged.

  “Everything all right?” Faye rolled her chair back from the desk, looking at the clock over Wreath’s head.

  “Fine.” Wreath headed for the back room. “I need to sweep.”

  Faye made a small clucking noise, the kind she used to make when Billy tracked mud onto her clean carpet, and couldn’t resist following Wreath to the rear of the store.

  “You told me you’d be getting to work about three o’clock once school started,” Faye said.

  The teen concentrated on the broom and dustpan as though she were hypnotized. “Well?” Faye said.

  “Well, what?” Wreath’s voice was much louder than usual.

  “It’s not three o’clock.”

  The girl slammed the broom against the wall so hard it bounced back and hit her in the face, and she stormed out of the room. As she brushed past Faye, the woman was startled at her urge to grab Wreath and pull the girl to her in a hug. Instead, she spoke in her most matter-of-fact furniture-store owner voice. “Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

  “I’ll be back at three o’clock, since that’s apparently when my shift starts.” Wreath spoke without looking back, striding toward the front door.

  “Since you’re here, you might as well stay. You can work on that new display you’ve been all fired up about.”

  Wreath stopped but still did not turn. “Really?”

  “Really.” Faye’s emotions were a strange mix, like the sweet-and-sour soup Billy used to get at the Chinese buffet in Alexandria. She wanted to smile at Wreath’s interest in the displays, but she couldn’t get rid of the worry about whatever problem had brought Wreath in early. When the teen turned, Faye felt a moment of triumph and a happiness long missing from her life.

  “You’re willing to let me do that sixties room?” Wreath asked. “The one in the catalog?”

  This time it was Faye who shrugged. “What’s to lose? I’m going further in the hole every day, so something’s got to give.”

  “We’ve got all the pieces we need to put it together.” The girl’s voice held a rare note of excitement. “I can use that chair there, and the shag rug over here, and that lamp.” She stopped. “But first I need to sweep and dust.” She seemed to be thinking out loud. “And the trash needs emptying.”

  “Get started on the display,” Faye said. “I’ll sweep for a change. I need the exercise.” She patted her stomach. “I don’t want to get fat sitting behind this desk.”

  “You always look nice.” Wreath studied the woman as though she’d never seen her before.

  “So do you,” Faye said. “You’ve got that look I see in all the magazines.” She paused. “What do you call it? Antique? No, that’s not it. Vintage! That’s it. You have that vintage look.”

  Wreath looked down at herself and seemed surprised by Faye’s description. “Really?”

  “That outfit is exactly like one I saw in an article about how retro looks are coming back.” She shook her head. “Hard to believe that look is in style.”

  Wreath wore the oddest assortment of clothing Faye had ever seen, usually clean, often worn, and occasionally ill-fitting. Somehow the teenager gave it panache. “You have great style,” Faye said, walking up and straightening Wreath’s skirt. “This geometric pattern looks nice.”

  Then she patted the girl’s shoulder. “It looks cute on you, a nice outfit for the first day of school.”

  Wreath met Faye’s questioning gaze and then dropped her eyes. “I didn’t go,” she said. “
I, uh, overslept and, uh, didn’t think it’d be that big a deal to miss the first day.”

  Faye feared she was getting too attached and wanted to walk away, but the defeat in Wreath’s eyes kept her standing there. For a fleeting moment she wished she were home in the den, watching her soap opera, trying to decide what to fix Billy for supper.

  “I’m surprised you skipped school. That doesn’t sound like you,” she said. “You’re usually so prompt.”

  Wreath nodded.

  “Tomorrow’s a new day,” Faye said.

  “You think so?” Wreath asked, as though the cliché were a piece of deep philosophy.

  The woman thought about it for a moment, looked around the store, and nodded. “I really do.”

  Wreath heaved a heavy red vinyl chair into the front corner and surveyed the showroom for suitable lighting. She remembered a floor lamp she’d seen at the Rusted Estates and wondered if it would be stealing if she brought it to Durham’s. The look would be perfect.

  She figured that wouldn’t be right, though, taking things away from the junkyard. All that stuff must belong to someone, and she hoped they didn’t decide they wanted it back during the next year.

  Getting down on her hands and knees, she straightened the pale shag rug that had been rolled up in a corner and adjusted a white-and-gold end table that had been grouped with an ugly gold couch. The bell on the front door jangled as she sat back to consider what was missing in her arrangement.

  “May I help you?” Mrs. Durham asked in the frosty voice she used for most people who were brave enough to walk through the doors of Durham’s Fine Furnishings. Wreath didn’t understand how someone who disliked customers could be running a store.

  “Yes, ma’am,” a confident male voice said. “I’m looking for a girl named Wreath Williams.”

  Wreath shrank lower and tried to look around the edge of the chair. All she could see was a pair of tennis shoes and jeans.